


Past an Hour the Prospect's Black

by ActualLynx



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, F/F, F/M, Female Harry, Female Harry Potter, Femslash, No Bashing, POV First Person, Slow Burn, Veela
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-22
Updated: 2020-06-15
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:41:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21525412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ActualLynx/pseuds/ActualLynx
Summary: Veela Curse played straight. To knowingly and willingly save the life of a Veela, is to become one yourself. Harry Potter saves a girl's life, and in so doing, saves the world. Starts GoF, No Bashing, Eventual Fem!Harry/Daphne Femslash
Relationships: Daphne Greengrass/Harry Potter
Comments: 17
Kudos: 223





	1. Chrysalis 1.1

Updated and Edited 6/15/2020

*Completely revamped Harry vs Fleur fight, as well as some minor consistency changes to the Harry and Apolline scene.

* * *

Three women marched through halls both pristine and glistening, their footsteps echoing loudly with their every stride forward. They held their chins high, and their backs stood straight; their clothes were threadbare, and their eyes sunk deep; yet despite their dishevelled appearances, they carried themselves proudly.

Two of them seemed as if they were twins, both sharing the same silvery-blonde hair. Closer inspection shattered the illusion, showing no relation to each other at all: one was taller than the other, and with green eyes rather than blue. The last of their party had hair the colour of the purest onyx, and eyes just as dark. Her role was not that of a fighter, and she lingered in the rear because of it.

Their long march ended, their path ahead, checked by an oaken door, and they settled themselves in front of it. They stared at it warily.

The black-haired woman was the first to speak. "This is where it'll all end, isn't it?"

A frown crossed the features of the tallest woman, "It will be. One way or another." 

Not one for patience, their last member said, "Let's get on with it then, yeah?" She tried for confidence, but her shaky smile betrayed her.

They needed no conversation as they pushed on—the decision was unanimous, and they all knew it. The women had lost too much to turn back, and they would never allow the sacrifices of so many others to go to waste. At their approach, the door opened all on its own.

Inside, only evil was there to greet them from atop its throne.

* * *

I hadn't expected dodging spells, or taking cover behind statues, would have been in the cards for me after the Second Task. But there I was: taking cover. Sometimes I hated my life.

"Come out, Harry! No more hiding!"

I peeked my head out from the cover offered by the statue of a knight in armour, to better look at my quarry. Fleur Delacour of all people stood in the centre of the corridor, her silver hair still wet from the Lake and a frenzied look to her heart-shaped face.

Right after my name had come roaring out from the flames of the Goblet of Fire, I'd clocked her as pompous. She'd taken but a single look at me and dismissed me entirely. Scant little before now has provided me cause to reconsider my opinion of her. Now, I thought her a little mental.

Seeing me, she shot off another Stunner, the scarlet bolt of energy flying towards me with exacting precision. I ducked back down.

"Sod off! You're mad!"

Even amidst her psychotic break, she was stunningly beautiful. Her fury was such that it seemed to suck the very air from my lungs, and I wasn't keen to linger any much longer under her sights.

"Hiding away will only make things worse for you," Fleur said with only the smallest trace of her previously thick French accent. Her English, though weak at the start of the year, now seemed better than mine, "Come out. Now."

"What the bloody hell are you even on about? _Huh!?_ You attacked me!" Pulling my wand from out of my robes, I prepared for the worst. "Is this the thanks I get for saving your sister?" I peeked my head back up, taking an inventory of my options—there weren't many—and to make sure she was still keeping her distance.

At the mention of Fleur's sister, she flinched, hunching in on herself, before drawing herself back up to her full, and not inconsiderable, height. "You do not know what you have done," Fleur muttered darkly, "You should not have rescued her."

Uncertain how to take Fleur's claim that I should have left her sister to die, I laughed disbelievingly. "And leave her at the bottom of the Black Lake? I remember it being a bit hard to breathe down there."

" _You think this a joke!?"_ Fleur's nostrils dilated, and she bared her teeth at me. And suddenly, she gave a simple reminder of what she was. She _changed._ Her face elongated, feathers beginning to bud from all over, and long, scaly wings forced their way out from her shoulders. Her clothes gave way freely, not even ripping under the rapid growth of those extra limbs, and continuing against all the odds to provide cover for her modesty.

Her skin seemed to shine moon-bright, casting the hallways under an oppressive aura. Without fully realising it, I'd stood from the safety of my cover. The struggle to keep still and steady in the face of such a supernatural terror was herculean, and my knees trembled under the effort.

 _"I don't even know what_ this _is!"_ What little wit I was still in possession of after such a drawn-out day was scrambling to figure out what Fleur was on about—cause there _had_ to be some reason, no matter how contrived. It wasn't like her at all. "Tell me what I did!"

Fleur ignored my question entirely, and her voice, when she spoke up once more, was different. _Inhuman_ and garbled, "I will take you to my mother. She will settle matters."

"No," I said, sounding far more confident than I had any right to be. "Not until I know what's going on."

"Come with me quietly. Now." Fleur demanded. In her palm—the one not already pointing a wand at me—a bright ball of red-orange flames ignited. It wasn't any more considerable than an apple, but the sudden show of wandless magic made me swallow nervously.

In defiance to Fleur's demands, and despite the uneasiness in my gut, I somehow raised my wand. The tension in the hall racketed up tenfold as we squared off. Neither side moved, and neither of us breathed.

The muscles in her arm, hard to see beneath feathers that were as white as snow, twitched, and I took my chance.

_"Tarantal—!"_

_"HOLD THERE!"_

Startled, the leg-dancing jinx died on my lips, and the flames held in Fleur's hand dimmed just that bit. Fleur and I stared at each other confusedly—neither of us had been the ones to speak, and we were alone in the hallway.

"YOU DARE BRING BATTLE TO MY REALM!?" The male voice came from within the confines of a portrait to the right of me. Inside, stood a knight dressed in full plate, in the middle of a wide-open field, and he looked entirely displeased. "TRESPASSERS!"

"Be silent, portrait." Fleur's inhuman appearance had faded somewhat, back to some form of normality. She still held a down of feathers all along her body, but her large wings had withered away, wilting alongside her growing confusion. "This does not concern you."

The portrait did not like that, and he drew his sword. "Intruders!" He removed his helm, revealing the face of a man who took great pride in his moustache, "Know the name Sir Cadogan! Recognise today as the day he thwarted your dastardly schemes!"

"Right..." I said, "This is weird, and I'm really rather busy. I'll just..." I gestured down the hallway, just wanting this day over already. Fleur scowled at me, obviously not willing to let me go. I hadn't expected her to, but it couldn't have hurt to try.

Replacing his helm, the portrait of Sir Cadogan raised his sword high in the air. " _TO ARMS! NOBLE KNIGHTS,_ _TO ARMS!"_

Statues all around us came to life, drawing swords and maces, or, in one case, not having a weapon, readied a shield for its use as a bludgeon. Their footfalls were heavy as they surrounded Fleur and me, and, our quarrel forgotten, we stood back to back, ready to face the oncoming storm of stone and steel.

"Is this honestly happening?" I didn't know the statues could move, and even if I did, that a painting could activate them at will was a concerning matter all on its own. This day just kept getting better and better.

"It appears so," Fleur said, "Hogwarts is an interesting place. I don't believe I like it."

Statues lined the hallway on either side, standing three abreast. They all took the form of a tall man, and their faces were generic and impossible to remember. They moved with stilted and jagged synchronicity.

One made a stab at me with its spear, and I jumped aside. A mistake; the shield-user was there, and it thrust its shield at me. It struck with extraordinary force—knocking the wind clear out of me, and I fell to the ground. As I lay heaving on the floor, it felt as if I would never breathe again.

Fleur spun her wand in a graceful arc, and, under her skilled choreography, a massive vine sprung from the ground, impaling a swordsman. Not fazed by the wound, it tried to keep slashing uselessly at the air. Fleur blew it apart with another twist of the wrist, its parts and masonry raining down in dense clumps.

Black was creeping in on my vision before I took in a trembling breath. I scrambled on only three limbs, away from the silent statues, trying to hold my wand steady. From my place on the ground, I pictured every piece of debris, anything not bolted to the ground or wall, and _willed_ it all towards me in one last gambit. _"_ Accio!" I shouted.

Nothing happened, and my stomach fell. The shieldman leaned over me, raising its shield high into the air, and I thought abruptly that this was how I would die. Not cut down by Voldemort, or by whoever had put my name into the Goblet of Fire. My fate was to die because a portrait had demanded it.

_A portrait._

A piece of me broke at the realisation, and I knew I couldn't allow things to end this way. An unfamiliar clarity swept over me, fuelled by my anger at this complete disaster of a life—today, yesterday, and the miseries still yet to come. It didn't matter; I was sick of it all. I tried again, _"ACCIO!"_

Everything in the hallway—decorative items on the walls, the broken pieces of masonry on the floor—all trembled, vibrating and jiggling one by one. A dull rumbling echoed out, and as a whole, _everything_ surged forwards.

By some miracle, not one bit of airborne junk struck me. The stone soldiers near me were not so fortunate, and the remains of their fallen compatriot slammed into them, shattering them totally and completely. Their remaining pieces collapsed, like a marionette with its strings cut.

I didn't know how long I sat on the floor, trying to catch my breath, but the light touch of Fleur's hand on my shoulder nudged me from my stupor. She offered her hand to me, and I hesitantly took it, and she hauled me up. She must have already handled her share of the statues.

"Are you okay?" She knitted her brows as she looked me up and down, scanning for injuries.

That statue had gotten me good, so I poked at my ribs experimentally. Nothing seemed broken. "Yeah. Fine. Might have a nasty bruise tomorrow, though. Did we get attacked by a portrait?" Idly, I placed my wand back in my robes.

"No, the statues were the ones to attack us," Fleur said through pinched lips, "The portrait was a mere cheerleader."

"Where'd that portrait go? Sir Cadogan, right?"

"Around." She made a gesture encompassing everywhere, and suddenly, I noticed the sheer amount of detritus and debris in the hallway. Pieces of stone, in chunks both big and small, lay sprinkled about haphazardly. Not even the portraits were safe, getting torn from their places on the walls, and flung around casually. Sir Cadogan's was missing.

We dug around for his portrait for a while. I wasn't sure why—curiosity, or perhaps out of some need for finality, or maybe something else. I didn't know.

It didn't take long to find him. His portrait was intact, noteworthy considering that it lay embedded in the broken chest of a statue. Fleur and I pulled him off with a great tug, and we turned him around to face us.

The grass in his portraiture was windswept, and so was the man himself. With his home now righted, he lifted himself from the ground and dusted himself down. Sir Cadogan was still wearing his suit of armour, so his efforts were mostly useless—a puff of grass still clung to his helm.

"I must admit, you are more worthy foes than I had expected." He puffed his chest up, and I imagined the knight wearing a crown of feathers, much as a peacock would, "Sir Cadogan, _honourable Knight of the Round Table_ , is more than up to the challe—"

Fleur lit his portrait on fire, silencing Sir Cadogan forever.

The ashes of his portrait drifted to the ground, and I wasn't sorry to see him go. "Why did you do that? Not that I disagree or anything."

"No witnesses,"

"No witnesses?" I turned to face her—I'd been looking at the pile that was once a knight—only to find Fleur's wand in my face. "Oh. Right." We were in the middle of a _thing_ before Sir Cadogan had so kindly interrupted.

I just stood there. What else could I do? I'd already put my wand away, and Fleur would hardly need any time at all to do what she wanted. All I could hope for was that whatever it was, it was benign. 

It was only now that Fleur was so close to me that her pale face and bloodshot eyes became obvious. Even with a wand pointed at me, that was what I couldn't help but to notice.

"—I _am_ sorry, Harry," Fleur said, " _Stupefy._ "

My world went black.

* * *

_"—believe you kidnapped the boy—"_

It was the feeling of ropes tightly binding my hands, and the sharp aroma of incense invading my nostrils that dragged me back to the land of the living.

_"—have expected such brash—your sister—"_

I tried to move my arms but could manage little more movement than a twist of the wrists. I pulled the ropes again and again, over and over, my teeth gnashing as I struggled in place.

_"—When I asked you to—"_

"Mum— _stop!_ He's awake!"

All the noise surrounding me came to an abrupt halt, and I quit my squirming.

Memories came flooding back to me—scaly wings and feathers, and a statue poised for a killing blow, and a knight, and the ashes of a portrait. Then—

_Fleur had Stunned me. She must have._

I didn't know how to feel about that. Fleur had taken me somewhere—I didn't know where—but I was mostly just confused. A little angry, yes, that went without saying—but _why_ had she done what she did? It made not a _whit_ of sense.

It was with a heavy sigh that a woman said, "Fleur. Gabrielle. Give me the room." Her French accent was strong and pronounced, though she had no trouble enunciating her words in English.

She was older, but only middle-aged, with only an occasional wrinkle marring her beautiful features. Her hair was the same silvery-blonde colour that I'd seen many times on Fleur, and I recognised Gabrielle from the Lake, standing across from the woman, with her gaze focused squarely on me. I fidgetted a bit.

Fleur was already out the door.

The sound of Gabrielle's feet treading on a hollow floor was clear, and she hesitated at the door, "Can I…"

" _No,_ Gabrielle."

" _But—"_

_"Not now."_

Gabrielle sniffed, but sure enough, her footsteps receded into the distance. Silence greeted her absence.

The unknown woman eventually broke the quiet, "You have my sincerest apologies, Harry Potter. I had not expected my daughter to panic as she did."

Setting aside my confusion for later, I summoned up some anger. It didn't take much, "I don't know what you expected, then. Apologies or not, I'm still sitting here trussed up like a pig. _Let me go._ Then we can talk about how many sorries will be enough." I glared at the woman, but she remained entirely unfazed by my ire.

"Then it will be so. We do not need such ghastly restraints anymore, no?"

With a wave of her wand, the rope around my wrists unravelled from their complicated knot. Rather than fall to the floor, they disappeared, dissolving into the aether as they hit the ground. Letting out a low groan, I rubbed at the sore spots where they had dug into my skin.

I finally got a decent look at my surroundings, and I found myself in a comfy-looking sitting room. "Where am I?" I asked, curious about my surroundings despite my anger. The room looked homey, decorated in varying shades of blue and white, and the couch I was on was one of the most comfortable pieces of furniture I'd ever had the pleasure of sitting in.

"The Beauxbatons' carriage," She answered plainly. "Fleur slinked you inside, while underneath a Disillusionment Charm."

"Well then," I said, digesting the fact that she’d transported me halfway across the school grounds, sneaking me past who-knew-how-many people. My mind latched onto something, "You say you didn't mean for Fleur to panic—that means you asked her to bring me to you. _Why?"_ Another thought occurred to me, " _Who_ _are you,_ anyway?"

She blinked, and wrinkles drew themselves across her forehead. "My apologies, Mr Potter, I thought I had already introduced myself at the Lake. My name is Apolline Delacour, and I am Fleur and Gabrielle's mother.

"And as for what is going on," The woman, Apolline, continued, "That is what I hope to find out. You are here now, even as brutish as the means of it were, so we may as well check."

"Check what?" I squinted at her, all the while standing and edging closer towards the door. Apologies or not, I still wasn't there by any choice that I had made. "What are you checking? What's so important that Fleur would risk an abduction over it?"

Her eyes tracked me as I progressed towards the only exit. She spoke up as I reached for the doorknob, "I believe you to be under the influence of a curse, Mr Potter."

I stopped. "A curse?"

"A curse," Apolline repeated. "Of the most obscure sort. I fear that you contracted it while underneath the Black Lake." She brandished her wand, and I tensed in response. "With your permission, I would check."

I stared at her wand, distrustful of her intentions. She'd let me out of the ropes, but she'd also been the one to send Fleur after me in the first place—there wasn't a lot of trust in that. But, a _curse._ Could I take the chance that she was malicious?

"I need your permission, Harry Potter."

"And why is that?" I asked, still torn on my decision, and playing for time. I felt like a broken record asking all these questions, but if someone I didn't know would cast magic on me, I wanted to know what they were doing.

"It will grant me the power to take but a glance at your soul," Apolline said. "The soul is sacred, to take even the most fleeting of glimpses demands consent freely given—to do otherwise is anathema, and amongst the vilest of the Black Arts."

My _soul._ A stranger was asking me to bare my soul to her—in a sense that was quite literal, too _._ I felt violated, even just thinking about it.

"I don't trust you," I told her.

"I know," Apolline nodded sadly. Her silver hair rippled with the movement, much like the waves would at a beach.

I'd always been a good judge of character—it was something that my Aunt and Uncle had taught me despite all their best efforts, and I was finding absolutely nothing in Apolline's demeanour that seemed even a little off.

 _"Fine,"_ I eventually gritted out. All I wanted was to be out of this complete mess of a situation, and the fastest way seemed to be through grudging cooperation. That didn't mean I had to be polite about any of it, though. "Do your bloody spell, and then I'm leaving."

Apolline wasted no time as she pointed her wand right at me, her face scrunched up in the deepest of concentration. At last, she spoke, _"Vispecto!"_

I'd expected lights and sparks, something showy or flashy. The magic that would involve the soul even _sounded_ grand, but—in this case, at least—I was mistaken. There was nothing magnificent, and nothing noble or sublime. From one instant to the next, an insignificant piece of me _lit up._

For a moment, it was as if I'd gained feeling over some extra limb—a third arm or a leg. I was now _aware_ of some unknown piece of me I'd never felt before, never having even fathomed it's now far too strange and terrifying presence. It was unique and striking, and it was _powerful_.

It was _me_.

But it was wrong. There was an inkling of something—a shadow of a thing—at the very edge of my awareness. It was a twist, an aberration, and it was growing.

As abruptly as the realisation had come, everything ended. Ordinary perception returned to me with all the subtlety of a Hungarian Horntail, and I gasped with the shock of it all.

Finally, my vision settled, and I scraped together the last few scraps of wit I still possessed. After such a long day, it was a wonder I had anything left at all to give, but I managed. Somehow, I did it.

By the time I regained my bearings, Apolline was already up and about and pacing. Back and forth she went, burning a path in the carpet, muttering to herself the whole while.

"What..." I gulped thickly, swallowing down the lump in my throat before trying again, "What was _that?_ " I asked, deeply disturbed by everything I'd just felt and witnessed.

Apolline startled, only now remembering she wasn't alone in the room. She halted and turned back to face me. "I am truly, deeply sorry, Mr Pot..." She stopped herself, before continuing, "Harry, you have my sincerest apologies. We have realised my worst fears.

"There are plans to make," She said, cutting off any more questions. "People to contact—favours to call in—there is much that needs doing and not enough time with which to do them. Time..." Apolline muttered, "Some time is what we all need."

She didn't allow me to ask what she meant—all I saw was a blindingly bright flash of light.


	2. Chrysalis 1.2

Updated and Edited 6/15/2020

*Changed first scene to better reflect changes from last chapter, and some minor clean up later on.

* * *

My head felt as if it were splitting open when I found Hermione in the hall outside the Common room.

"Harry!" She said as she spotted me, talking far too loudly for comfort, and making me cringe at the unneeded decibels. "There you are! Just _where_ have you been?"

Hermione looked frazzled, but that wasn't far outside the ordinary. Her long mane of brown hair was uncombed, and she had a high-strung zeal about her. Her shrill voice was grating itself against the inside of my skull.

Hermione's question registered through my headache only after a too-lengthy pause, and I blinked owlishly at her.

Just what _was_ I doing? The Second Task was finally over, and I'd been walking about the castle. Looking around, I was unmistakably outside the Gryffindor tower, and so was most everyone else from my House. 

They were all standing around, most outright glaring in the Fat Lady’s direction. She clad herself all in black, a long veil obscuring her cherub-like face, and she was weeping into a handkerchief, wailing into the air and sobbing fat tears.

Eventually, I merely shrugged inwardly at the problem of my poor memory. It hardly seemed to matter—bigger things were going on, and my day had left me weary. I'd probably just zoned out, out of sheer exhaustion.

"Oh, never mind that," Hermione said, inadvertently echoing my thoughts on the matter, "We have some larger issues to deal with here. _Obviously._ "

"I haven't seen the Fat Lady this upset since Sirius broke in," I said, carefully ignoring Hermione's agitated tone. The Fat Lady had refused to speak to anyone, after Sirius, for _weeks_. "What happened this time?"

The Fat Lady herself was the first to answer me. "The fair Sir Cadogan is… is-" As she spoke, her breath hitched repeatedly, and her words were almost unintelligible. " _Dead!_ Sir Cadogan is _dead!_ " As if saying the words made everything more real for the Fat Lady, her sobbing redoubled in its intensity.

The sheer enthusiasm of the noise stabbed past my headache, making my stomach curl in agitation. 

"Who the _bloody hell_ is Sir Cadogan!?" An angry shout yelled out from the crowd of students surrounding the Gryffindor portrait. Too busy shoving down the urge to empty my stomach, I didn't catch whoever had spoken. "Let us in already!" A chorus of agreements rang out from the flock of teenagers.

My vision blurred, the world lurching erratically, and the next thing I knew, Professor McGonagall had shown up. When my sight normalised, I could see only that her back and posture were as stiff and straight as they always were, and that she did _not_ look amused.

"The password is _triumph,_ " She told the distraught portrait.

The portraits' high-pitched wailing increased in volume, the Fat Lady intent only on her pain and sorrow. Everybody quickly covered their ears, remembering the last time the overweight woman had tried to shatter glass, using only her voice. Professor McGonagall's eyebrow twitched.

I didn't blame her—it was an _awful_ noise.

It was difficult to see beneath her veil, but the Fat Lady glared at the Professor. "Can you not leave a woman to her grief?" Her words were sharp and sure, a stark contrast to the blubbering of a moment's past.

"Be that as it may, the students are tired. They have had a long day," She glanced pointedly in my direction, "And, many wish for nothing more than some rest. Open the door, if you would please."

The portrait engaged in a stare-down with the Professor, but it was not a fight wherein victory could be found. The Fat Lady's lips wobbled, and she broke down once more into hysterics.

Professor McGonagall let out a huff of breath, and her next words were kind, "Very well. I will have another take your position, for a time, so you may…" She paused, as if unbelieving that what she was saying was right, " _Grieve_. I shall have Hamilton assume your duties."

Hamilton, who didn't take long to show up, was a mountain of a man. His arms were massive, his legs even more so, and he dressed in the fashion of a man of the seventeenth century. His clothes had entirely too many ruffles, and a false wig reached down his back with distinctive curls. After a gaggle of figures from other portraits escorted her away, he took the Fat Lady’s place.

Hamilton peered down at us. "These are to be my charges, then?" His voice was smooth and educated, in stark contrast to his muscle-bound form, and he chose his words with care.

"That they are, Hamilton," Professor McGonagall said, "Treat them with all due care."

"Of course."

It was not overlong before the multitude of students streamed their way back into the dorm, carrying me with them in much the same way as a lone log floating down a raging river. Hermione pulled me out of the crowd before they could badger me up the stairs to bed.

"Come _on,_ Harry," Hermione was strong for her size, and she pulled me effortlessly to a dark corner of the Common Room. "The Third Task is growing nearer and nearer every second. We _have_ to study."

"Sure, Hermione," I said, nodding along idly to her slightly bossy tone, agreeing to her demands even though the Third Task was still months away. I followed along behind her, on a course for a couch, still somewhat confused about what I'd been doing the last couple of hours, and concerned slightly over the plight of the Fat Lady.

The pounding of my head ruined any such voicing of my thoughts on the matter. By the time we neared a couch, my confusion and concerns had already evaporated off into oblivion. My headache was more stubborn, though, and showed no signs of clearing.

"You really _must_ learn the Shield Charm," Hermione continued as we sat down somewhere, "It's pronounced _Protego_ , and it would be indispensable if you ever get stuck in a duel. I was looking up a few of the past Third Tasks— _Harry!"_

The suddenness of her agitated hiss brought me back to the moment, and I glanced around. We were sitting at a table off to one corner of the Common room, and Hermione had wasted no time clearing off part of the cluttered desk for her pile of books. A healthy stack of hefty tomes sat on the tabletop, arranged by topic and level, and divided even further into alphabetical order.

"Sorry, Hermione," I apologised after realising that I hadn't been paying much of any attention to her, "Just a little empty in the head. Don't mind me." I flashed a smile at her, trying to ease some of her worries, and popped open one book she'd collected.

She narrowed her eyes at me, and as she continued to stare, her mouth dropped open, and her eyes widened, almost as if Hermione were only seeing me for the first time. "Oh, _Harry,_ " She said, her shoulders drooping, "Here I am going on and on about _studying_ when you can hardly even keep awake! Why didn't you say anything?"

"There was nothing to say, Hermione," I told her, shrugging a single shoulder. "Just a headache is all."

" _'Just a headache,'_ Harry?" Hermione raised a brow. She had a book in hand, no uncommon sight, and she held it out over the tabletop. She dropped it, and it landed with a loud _bang._

I flinched.

"That's what I thought, Harry," Hermione said, "You honestly look pale _,_ now that I'm looking. You should go to bed."

It appeared a suggestion, but it held more the power of command. I agreed to Hermione's demand, too tired to argue, and struggled back up and to the dorms. My limbs were heavy, far harder to move than I had expected, and Hermione had to help me keep upright.

On our way up, an icy chill crawled its way down my spine.

* * *

The rest of February came and went with all the speed and grace of an unusually sluggish Flobberworm.

Entering the Great Hall for breakfast, I made a beeline towards the Gryffindor table, the growling and the emptiness of my stomach urging me onwards.

"Morning, mate," Ron greeted from behind his heap of food as I sat down beside him. Hermione looked on in disgust—Ron hadn't bothered to swallow his food before he gaped open his maw.

I grunted an affirmative and loaded up a plate of my own—the breakfast of a proper Englishman: bacon, sausages, and eggs. After a moment, in between bites, I turned to one of my closest friends and asked, "What'cha reading, Hermione?"

She'd long since finished her spread, it seemed, and had a book placed on the table. That wasn't anything out of the ordinary, it was Hermione, but she usually reserved her bookish eating habits for lunchtime, not bright and early for breakfast.

"A magical creatures book," She looked up, "Actually, it's the same one I got the... well, it's the same book I used in second-year, for the basilisk. Before, well. You know." She gave a half shrug.

Ron raised his head when Hermione mentioned the basilisk, even as my breath quickened. _The basilisk_ . It was a miracle everybody survived the ordeal. _I_ nearly didn't, and the scar on my arm itched as a reminder of the sheer agony the venom put me through that day.

"...It has some _fantastic_ information." Hermione muttered before either Ron or I could ask her about it. "It brings back a lot of memories for me, too, but that's hardly the book's fault. We shouldn't ignore it because of that."

The loud screech of an owl interrupted whatever I'd have said in response to that, and Hermione breathed a small sigh of relief.

A large brown owl landed in front of me and promptly snatched a bit of bacon off my plate. I took the letter tied around the owl's legs, only mildly annoyed by its petty thievery, and pulled open the seal. The swirling handwriting was instantly recognisable, and an excited flutter sparked in my chest as I read the brief note.

_Harry,_

_If it is agreeable to you, please report to my office after you have eaten. I have come across an unexpected companion this morning, and he has brought with him a beloved family pet. They both seem enthusiastic, and openly eager, to meet with you, if you are amenable._

_As always, I am yours most sincerely,_

_Albus Dumbledore_

_P.S. I find myself most fond of lollipops._

"Who's it from, Harry?" Ron asked as he leaned into me, trying to look over the contents of the letter for himself.

I angled it so Ron could better see it, and said, "Letter from Professor Dumbledore. He wants to see me after breakfast, says I have a visitor."

Ron grunted his understanding. "Beloved family pet? Does he mean who I think he means?"

Hermione motioned for me to hand the letter over to her, and I obliged. She glanced it over, "I think it does, and I wonder who the unexpected companion could be? The letter implies there's somebody else there, too."

"Yeah, Hermione," I replied, "I wonder what's going on? Must be big, if _he's_ coming."

Ron and Hermione both shrugged their shoulders in sync, "That's a good question." Hermione said, "If it's who we think it is, he's in tremendous danger coming back to Britain. I hope he isn't taking any unnecessary risks."

"Me too, Hermione. Me too," Was all I could say to that.

Breakfast wrapped up shortly after that, and, not wanting to waste any more time, we made our way to the corridor outside the Headmaster's office.

On the way, we babbled to each other about nothing in particular. I mostly stayed quiet as we headed up the stairs, letting my best friends be the ones to fill the air. It was me that led the way, and Ron and Hermione mostly let me be, able to tell that my thoughts were on more important things. They spent the time bickering with each other as they always did, and I mostly drowned them out.

It wasn't until we got to the corridor outside Professor Dumbledore's office, that Hermione bumped my shoulders. "Everything okay, Harry?" She asked, "We've lost you to your thoughts a lot, lately. You've been quiet."

"I'm fine, Hermione. Really."

She didn't believe me, that much I saw. She said nothing as she tried to outlast me for my proper answer.

"Just stressed out." I eventually said, caving to Hermione's inquest, "It's just... whoever put my name into the Goblet, they've done nothing. It's almost the Third Task, the longer they go on doing nothing..." I trailed off.

Hermione picked up on my line of thought, "...The more likely it is that they'll try something." She said, nodding to herself at her conclusion, "Yeah, Harry. I can see how stressful that would be. To be honest, it worries me too, but you shouldn't just be keeping it all in."

"Yeah, mate," Ron spoke up, "Say something, talk to us. We'll be right there beside you, so long as you'll have us." He made for a playful punch at my arm, and the hit was enough to elicit a light jolt, "Besides, Harry—the quiet, brooding look doesn't suit you much at all."

Hermione nodded. If it was at Ron's proclamation of support, or his teasing, or probably even both, I couldn't quite tell. Ron had surely struck me harder than he meant, as I felt the beginnings of tears prickle behind my eyes.

"...Thank you." I eventually croaked out, and we all exchanged genuine smiles.

The gargoyle standing guard outside the Professor's office came into view then, and we stopped beside it. The stone effigy, crafted from what seemed like pure stone, stood silent and unmoving. I stepped up to it.

"Not following me up?" I asked, noticing Ron and Hermione were making no move to follow me.

"Nah, mate," Ron said, giving a dismissive wave of his hand, "This seems like it'd be private. And anyway, the last time I met that _'beloved family pet,'_ he nearly chewed my leg off. You go on ahead."

I blew out a quick laugh and glanced over at Hermione to see if she thought the same, and she bobbed her head. She gave me a light shove, shooing me on, evidently wanting me out of her sight already. She turned to the still statue and loudly pronounced, "Lollipop."

The gargoyle came to life then. It briefly glanced at us, seeming to take the measure of something—what it was looking for, I couldn't tell—before stepping aside. The stairway it revealed was circular and seemed able to move with a mind all its own, just as the gargoyle had. Not wanting to get left behind, I stepped on the stairs, and they carried me up.

The trip upstairs was short, not giving me overmuch time to dwell on any nervousness. I was on the cusp of meeting a man I'd only known for a scant few months, not even a full year, and we'd mostly only talked through a few letters here and there. We hadn't met face-to-face since that night in the Shrieking Shack.

The door came into view, and the stairs let me off. Not bothering to knock on the large oaken door, I just turned the knob and went in. The inside of Dumbledore's office was by now familiar to me, with its myriad collections of books and other ticking and clicking knickknacks displayed on the various bookshelves.

The Professor who'd summoned me was nowhere in sight, but another was. Professor Lupin stood front and centre, looking even shabbier than the last time I'd seen him. His previously thin moustache was now more of a rough beard, and the hair on his head was even greyer than it was before. Somehow, though, he looked happier, the lines that age and stress had placed on his face seeming less pronounced.

He smiled when he saw me come in, the gesture taking years off his face. "Harry," He greeted me, and I walked over to him, casting him a smile of my own.

"Professor!" I said, "When Professor Dumbledore sent his letter, I didn't think you'd be the one to be here." It was a surprise, but a happy one. Professor Lupin was the best Defence Against the Dark Arts professor I'd ever had, even better than Professor Moody—no small feat.

"Please, call me Remus. I'm no longer your professor, and I remember being there to hold you as a baby." He made no move to come closer to me, appearing to prefer where he was at, "And Albus seems to have a habit of being vague, I've noticed."

I snorted—an understatement if ever I've seen one. Dumbledore was a hand-off type of teacher, which wasn't a terrible thing; he was there when he needed to be, ready to impart on listening ears some sage advice. 

I looked around, trying to find the man I came here to see. It didn't take long. Off to one corner was a colossal dog, looking as if someone had spoon-fed him steroids. I knew the big black dog as Padfoot, and the canine seemed barely able to restrain himself from trying to tackle me. His head cocked to one side when our eyes met, and his tail began wagging fiercely.

Padfoot didn't waste any time, and he _shifted_. He turned in place, becoming not an unusually large dog, but an emaciated man. My godfather: Sirius Black, the wanted madman, and the escaped convict.

He looked noticeably better than he did the last time I saw him, yet the years in Azkaban Prison still dogged his footsteps. At the unintentional joke, I covered my grin with a cough, immensely gladdened that Sirius couldn't listen to my thoughts.

Dumbledore's office was well lit, and it showed that Sirius, previously bedraggled and unkempt, was now perfectly clean. His raven-dark hair, cut to his shoulders, seemed well taken care of, and he wore clothes that looked brand new. He looked healthy, even though he was still a little thin.

"Harry!" Sirius looked me up and down as he marched straight towards me, placing his hands on my shoulders. The palms of his hands were firm and steady, and more than anything, warm, "How have you been?" He asked as he pulled me into a tight embrace.

I abruptly froze. Sirius had never hugged me before, and I had never considered the possibility of it. My shock didn't last long, and I soon hugged him back just as hard, just as fiercely. A tight knot in my belly I'd never recognised before then uncoiled just that tiny bit with the familial contact.

"I'm _brilliant_ , Sirius." I beamed at him, in an excellent mood for the first time in what felt like forever.

"Good. I'm glad." Sirius said, and he couldn't seem to bare taking his eyes off of me, "I missed you."

Something warm bloomed in my chest when he said that—the idea that some adult could _miss_ me, could want to see _more_ of me, was entirely foreign. I couldn't stop smiling.

"Ah, the small happiness so becoming of a family's reunion, after so long spent apart." I startled, realising that Professor Dumbledore must have entered the room while Sirius distracted me. "I shall never grow weary of seeing it in action. It gives this old man immense joy, and never fails to bring a smile to this tired face of mine."

Professor Dumbledore wasn't lying, as his features held a soft smile. He wore a simple set of grey robes, far less noticeable than his usually flamboyant sense of fashion, and he took a seat behind his desk. His movements were slow, and he eased himself into a more comfortable position.

"Professor," I said, growing weary of all the greetings I was giving out to the people in the office. Was it too much to ask, for them all to appear at the same time? It seemed more efficient that way—it would have given me more time with Sirius.

Sirius ignored Dumbledore's presence, so focused was he on me, and my appearance. "You are looking so much like your grandmother. I know that I've said, in the past, you more resemble your father—and you still do—but I see more and more of Dorea in you now."

At Sirius' proclamation, both Remus and Dumbledore peered more closely at me, Dumbledore squinting his eyes in his efforts to see my face more clearly.

"My grandmother?" I asked, ignoring the scrutiny of the surrounding adults. I realised that before now, I'd never really put any thought into her, who she'd been. What was she like as a person? What did she, or even my grandfather, do for a living? I committed the name Dorea to my memory, coveting the knowledge and holding it close to my heart. It settled comfortably, like a piece of a puzzle long forgotten.

My parents were such a fixation of mine—not that that was such a bad thing—that I forgot my family was probably more extensive than just the three of us. Even Dudley had his own Aunt Marge.

"Dorea was a wonder of a woman, and I miss her greatly. She was like a Mum to me, even took me in when I ran away from my crazy bat of a mother..." He stared off into the distance, looking for things on the walls that weren't there. He shook his head to clear his thoughts, "I imagine you're wondering why I'm here?"

I nodded, and loathe as I was to move on from the subject, sheer curiosity won the day. Sirius wouldn't be risking his life by coming here if it weren't necessary. "There are a few reasons, but first, I'm here to warn you."

"Warn me?"

"Yes, Harry," Remus said, as he idly scratched his scruffy beard, "Your entry into the Tournament was only the start of things. There have been some troubling signs, lately, that have popped up, and we considered it prudent to give you a warning. I shouldn't need to tell you this, Harry, but knowing you, I will anyway. _Be careful."_ The jovial mood from earlier evaporated at the sombre note, and I straightened my back.

This entire year had been nothing but a disaster. I'd hoped that, after the announcement of the Triwizard Tournament, that all the excitement would happen to somebody else for a change. Perhaps that wasn't in the cards for me.

"Yes, yes, the warning is given," Sirius sent a sharp glare at both Remus and Dumbledore. "Now! I remember the promise of some time alone with my godson."

Dumbledore frowned at Sirius' tone, but after a moment of consideration, merely nodded his head in surrender, before standing up. "Remus, follow me if you would. There is a matter which begs your attention."

Remus hesitantly agreed, sharing only a brief, worried glance with Sirius, before he followed Dumbledore out a well-hidden door off to the side. The door slammed shut, leaving just my godfather and me alone in the room. The atmosphere suddenly seemed warmer in the other two's absence.

"Alrighty, _"_ Sirius said as he threw an arm around my shoulder, "Now that all the stuffy old men are out of the room, we can talk, man-to-man." He shot me a mischievous grin, and wiggled his eyebrows, " _So,_ got your eyes on any pretty damsels in distress? I hear you like rescuing them from out under lakes. Any girlfriend?"

I'd planned to ignore him, but, "My date for the Yule Ball didn't turn out very well," I confessed, not so subtly ignoring the jab about damsels under the lake. "She and I were kinda last-minute choices for each other— _but there's this one girl!_ " I rushed out, before blushing bright red after hearing what had just spewed out from my mouth. Why did I say that?

"Come on, Harry," Sirius said. Trying to egg me on towards spilling my secrets, he prodded me in the ribs, "You gotta give me more than that."

My blush somehow grew even more pronounced, crawling its way up to my ears. " _Fine._ Her name's Cho Chang—and she's the Seeker for the Ravenclaw team, and every time I see her, there's this funny feeling in my stomach, and then suddenly I just can't talk!" My confession had turned into a rant by the end.

Sirius suddenly let go of me, rushing off towards Dumbledore's chair, the one behind the Headmaster's expansive, and very ornate, desk. Sitting down, and after making himself comfortable, he pulled out his wand. Sirius transfigured himself a pair of glasses from a spare quill and hastily slid them on to his nose.

"Sirius?"

" _Quiet!_ I'm trying to make myself look important!"

"Okay?" I said, confused about the course the conversation was taking, and quickly growing concerned for Sirius' mental well being. This _thing_ he was doing was weird.

 _"Ahem."_ Sirius cleared his throat, coughing into his fist. He did that a couple more times, each time he did, his voice changed ever so slightly, until he sounded like a different, and much older, person.

"There comes a time in every youthful man's life," Sirius started, and I realised with a mounting horror what it was he was about to do. "You may experience some amount of confusion about what's happening to you, so I'll be _glad_ to explain.

"This knowledge has passed from father to son, and from grandfather to father. For as long as fathers have existed, this has been our sacred duty. And it is now my turn to pass it on, to you. How do you say?"

"I say you're crazy," I said, but couldn't help the grin that was growing on my face.

"You have a _crush!_ " Sirius announced, pointing an accusing finger at me, and finally dropping his veneer of righteous importance. "And on a Ravenclaw girl, too, by the sounds of it. Lily would be _so proud_." He wiped a fake tear from the corner of his eye.

That warm feeling from earlier returned in full force, blooming in my chest like an overeager flower in spring, even as my blush showed no signs of fading. Getting teased by my godfather, it was _right_ —exactly as I had imagined a family to be. It shared no relation to the skillfully aimed barbs coming in from Aunt Petunia.

I didn't resist when Sirius got up from his chair to give me another hug. "I know I missed a lot of time with you, Harry," He said as he pulled me into his arms. "But I want you to know that I'm here, now. If you would like it..." He hesitated, seeming to summon up some amount of courage from some deep well inside of him, "I would like it very much if you would live with me, bugger all that the Aurors would have to say about it."

I was silent in my shock—this was _real_ and _amazing_ , and _everything_ I had imagined. When Sirius had last offered something similar, at the end of my third year, nothing had gone right. Pettigrew had escaped, and Sirius, forced to flee in the dark of night. Now, he was making the offer once more.

At my continued silence, Sirius grew noticeably more nervous, beginning to fidget in place. I didn't give him much longer to stew—I'd already decided my answer, " _Yes!"_

Sirius smiled widely, his face practically glowing, as he pulled me into his tightest hug yet, nearly smothering me in his happiness. If I could live in this moment forever, I would. "I have a present for you," He said after holding me in place for several long seconds.

"You don't need to, Sirius," I said. "This is? enough for me."

"Then think of it as more of a homework assignment." Sirius insisted, pulling something from his pocket. In his palm lay a miniature figurine, in Padfoot's form. It was small, only a few inches tall at the shoulder. Other than that, it was a perfect replica of the real thing, with even the fur appearing genuine and lifelike.

Sirius reached a finger out to pet the dog behind the ear, but the figurine came to life, growling at him in an adorably high sound. When Sirius ignored the dog's warning, it bit him.

" _Bloody hell!_ " He cursed, snatching his finger back to suck on it in his mouth. "This little blight is a perfect copy of Padfoot, and he's the first step of many towards becoming an animagus."

"An animagus?" I asked, staring sceptically at the toy-sized Padfoot, "Isn't that supposed to be hard? And dangerous?"

"It is, yes, which is why we're starting with _this,_ first. I have to make sure you properly know your transfiguration before we move onto the _actual_ process—responsible parenting, and all that rot. Here," Sirius said, and he handed me the miniature dog.

"Your task," He continued. "Is to turn _this_ handsome devil here," He pointed at the figure in my hands, "Into the handsome devil standing over _here._ " He directed his pointer finger to his face and grinned at me.

"There's a catch," I said, and it wasn't a question. I could already do it, _probably_. Turning one animal into another was relatively simple, and I've been able to do it, with only a little trouble, for a while now. The real pain lay in the details—animals were pretty complicated.

His grin turned evil. "You're not allowed to say incantations, or wave your wand about."

And there it was. I'd never cast a spell before without saying the words, but something at the back of my mind told me the skill would be useful. It would be helpful now, forward into the future, and back in the past.

Our moment together got ruined when Dumbledore came back in, Remus following closely behind. He looked troubled, but I didn't have time to figure out why. Their reentry reminded me that, _yes,_ I still had classes today. It was a weekday, and I was almost late, and I sent an apologetic look at Sirius.

He waved me off, already suspecting what I was about to say. "Remember, no fancy incantations—if you try, I'll know. Oh, and I _should_ mention—I had to make it a _teensy_ bit smarter than expected—but that shouldn't be an issue. Now! Off you go!"

When I had gone up the stairs, summoned by letter, I knew very well that the meeting I was about to experience would be a big one. _Important._ Looking at the figurine of Padfoot squirming about in the palm of my hand, I left knowing that I was right. Today had been a good day.


	3. Chrysalis 1.3

Updated and Edited 6/15/2020

* * *

"Harry! Y-your  _ thing _ is peeing on my bed!  _ Again! _ "

Ron's voice was all that greeted me upon entering from the dormitory bathroom, clothed and ready for the day to come. The House Elves—short, ugly beings that were nevertheless endearing—were the only reason the dorm remained clean. A small army of the tiny creatures always worked hard to clean up after so many teenagers, and they enjoyed every moment. 

The light of predusk streamed in through the windows, serving only to stress Ron's beet-red features. He stood by his bed, still in his pyjamas, his jaw clenched and gaze directed downwards, towards his bed, directly at the miniature of Padfoot.

Padfoot, his back leg still high in the air, peeing on Ron's bed, was an image not easily forgotten, and it only made me giggle. "You know, Ron," I said in between fits of laughter, "I'm honestly impressed. Padfoot's still going—he must have it out for you."

He brought a hand to his forehead and slid it slowly down his face. "Why is it always  _ me _ ?" Ron lamented, "Hermione never has to deal with any of this."

"Or Neville," I said, "Or Dean or Seamus. It's just you, and I think there's a very great reason for that..."

"And why is that,  _ Harry?" _

A finger tapped rhythmically on my chin, as I feigned at deep thought. " _ Hm. _ Yes, I can see it now."

"Come off it, already!" Ron's yell pitched upwards by the end, an embarrassing noise that made my mouth twitch upwards into a half-grin. His humiliation was my victory. Ron realised that, too, his ears turning a deep shade of red.

"It's that," I said, pointing to his face—his  _ entire _ face, "It's everything  _ right _ around there."

Ron groaned, huffed out a tremendous sigh, and picked Padfoot up from his bed—the diminutive dog had finished his business by then, and offered no resistance, merely using one of Ron's fingers as a handy chew toy. He showed no signs that the sharpened teeth hurt him, and Ron placed the not-quite-alive figurine over on my dresser. Padfoot settled down comfortably for a nap, curling up into a little ball.

"You know you're like a brother to me, Harry," Ron said. "So I'll say this first: if your dog wakes me up like that again, I'll return the favour. It will be a war the likes of which you have never seen before—one that you can never win. Do we understand each other?"

I reacted to Ron's challenge in the only way a teenage boy could, for my bloodline was not one known for cowardice. Rolling my shoulders, I spoke the words feared by all, the temperature of the air plummeting at their very utterance, "Do that, Ron, and I'll tell Mrs Weasley."

He flinched back as if struck a mortal blow, grasping his shirt just above his heart, as he collapsed dramatically to his knees. A look of abject betrayal crossed Ron's features as he pretended to gasp out his last breath.

Hermione stumbled onto the scene to that image. Poking her head through the entry of the dorm, she took one look at us—Ron splayed on his knees in front of me, and the heat in my face from laughing at Ron only moments before. It was a spectacle not readily explained, not with my back facing the door, and unquestionably not the proudest moment of my brief life.

"What are you…" Hermione muttered, her brows scrunching together, "You know what, I don't even want to know. Make yourselves presentable—Professor McGonagall is holding a House meeting."

Hermione's insinuation took a minute to process, and by then, she had already ducked back out of the room. Ron and I realised what she had meant, and he quickly stood back up, his ears turning as scarlet as mine surely were. We promptly separated, giving one another several meters of distance. We side-eyed each other.

"Never speak of this again?" Ron asked, his tone kept carefully neutral.

Mine was just as measured, "Yeah. Definitely."

And that was all there was to it—Ron quickly got dressed, and it wasn't long before we converged at the stairs, embarrassment forgotten.

"Never talk like that again," I said on our way down, referring to the moment best-not-remembered, "You sure can be right bloody terrifying when you want to be, Ron." His temper was often more explosive, with none of the control of earlier. Even considering our hastily made pact of silence, it was interesting enough for comment.

_"Me?_ _You're_ the one who threatened to whinge to my Mum," Ron threw his hands up as we stepped into the Common Room, "That's just a low blow, mate."

The Common Room was uncommonly packed, with what seemed like every Gryffindor student in attendance. It reminded me uncomfortably of a can of sardines, with almost no room to move around in. House meetings were rare, as there was rarely ever any need. Most times, announcements happened during dinner, in the Great Hall.

Professor McGonagall was at the head of it all, standing next to the fireplace. We were one of the last few to make it down the stairs, so as everybody's eyes turned to us, Ron and I, our faces red, quickly scurried inside the protection offered by the crowd. We slipped in next to Hermione, who stood near the front.

"What's going on?" I whispered to Hermione, trying my best to keep as quiet as possible.

Her only response was a quick, " _ Shh!" _

"Now that we are all here, I have an announcement to make," Professor McGonagall started, her eyes sweeping across the crowd, "It is my proud honour, as both Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and as the Head of Gryffindor House, that we all may welcome amongst our ranks, a new student."

Murmurs broke out between the crowd of Gryffindors, as it was no everyday occasion for any student to transfer, let alone in the middle of the year. In my four years at Hogwarts, it had happened only once, when a Hufflepuff student transferred  _ out _ in my second year _.  _ I didn't remember her name, only that she had had two first names. Nobody blamed her, as the opening of the Chamber of Secrets was stressful for us all.

A stressful time or not, guilt coiled in my gut when I couldn't even do something so simple as remembering her name.

"Settle down, students," Professor McGonagall said as the droning reached a crescendo. The Professor's command over her House was absolute, and everybody near-instantly hushed, "Ordinarily, there would be a Sorting in the Great Hall. However, this is no ordinary circumstance, and at the Headmaster's discretion, he has granted an exception. Allow me to introduce you to—"

The last person I ever expected to see stepping inside Gryffindor Tower did so then, coming in through the portrait of Hamilton. She was short and pale, almost abnormally so, and walked with a grace unmatched by any who had ever walked the halls of Hogwarts. Any save but one, and they both shared the same silver hair and blue eyes.

"Gabrielle Delacour, our newest lion."

Where one would have expected hushed whispers, there was instead silence. Out of everybody that could have transferred into Hogwarts, nobody expected that person to be the sister of the Champion of Beauxbatons. It was the political coup of the century—as far as school competitions could even bear such a descriptor. Everybody was too busy dotting the dots to gossip.

My reaction was bewilderment. From what I knew of the Delacour family, precious little that that  _ was _ , they seemed to me the intense types, doing nothing without reason. I'd met Fleur's mother only once, and Gabrielle too, so that belief stemmed entirely from a single meeting. Fleur must have gotten it from  _ somewhere _ , though.

Gabrielle had sidled up next to Professor McGonagall by the time my focus returned to her. She avoided any eye contact with the crowd, and only spoke after the Professor cleared her throat expectantly. Her eyes leapt up to mine, before quickly darting away, " _ Hey... _ Everybody," She began after a moment, "I'm Gabrielle, and I hope very much that we can all get along."

Nobody in the crowd said anything, and I idly noticed that Gabrielle's accent had vanished completely. Yet another surprise, considering that last I spoke to her, at the Black Lake and after the Second Task, hardly more than a week ago, she barely spoke English at all. After some time trying to puzzle through that, I mentally shrugged—magic was, without a doubt, involved.

At the continued silence from the crowd, she swallowed nervously before continuing onward, "Well, I'll be joining with the Fourth Year classes. So, you'll  _ err _ —be seeing me around?" Though her statement sounded more like a question, she smiled toothily, signalling an end to her strained introduction.

Professor McGonagall took Gabrielle's place, and she spoke some more on Gryffindor needing to put its best foot forward, about being an exemplary example for everyone to follow. I zoned her out—my gaze was laser-focused on Gabrielle, who was trying her best to hide in the shadows behind the Professor.

Gabrielle was beautiful beyond measure. Her lips were too soft, her nose too dainty, and her blue eyes were almost  _ too _ shiny. She held a nearly ethereal air about her, but none of that was why I stared. Gabrielle's eyes would sweep across the room seemingly at random, but too often would her gaze settle on me, and just as soon dart away. Suspicion reared its ugly head.

I would have to talk to her,  _ soon,  _ and find out why she was here at Hogwarts.

* * *

It turns out that was easier said than done.

Never one for subterfuge, my plan at the moment amounted to little more than  _ 'talk to Gabrielle.' _ It was a simple enough order of steps, and one I usually wouldn't have had any trouble with—walk up to Gabrielle, and ask. The problem was, every time I tried, she disappeared. She vanished— _ poof— _ like she was never there at all.

I tried after Professor McGonagall's speech; I tried after breakfast and after lunch and after class. Every opportunity only ever ended up thwarted. My last attempt before scrapping the entire plan as a lost cause was in the Library.

This late after dinner, the Library was only just now emptying of studious teenagers. The room was vast, with bookshelves stretching up so far into the ceiling that the tops were only barely visible. Occasionally, a stray owl flitted about in the air, darting between one shelf and another. Books frequently floated up or down, returning to their homes or delivering themselves to in-need students. Somehow or another, the chaotic system worked.

The Marauder's Map was clear: Gabrielle Delacour was in the Library. Her name floated gently above a table in the far corner of the room, infrequently swaying in place as she, presumably, fidgeted in her seat. I tucked the Map away, slipping it discreetly into my pocket. There was only a single entrance or exit into the Library—I had her cornered now.

Cutting to the right, past the Forbidden Section, had me pause in my crusade as I noticed something unexpected. A hand, and only a hand, floated in the air as it placed a thick-looking tome back on the shelf. I recognised it immediately.

"Hermione?"

My bookish best friend dropped her book, the tome thudding as it smacked against the floor, as Hermione gave out a faint yelp. The pages fluttered open as the book settled on the ground, rippling as if in an unseen breeze.

"Hermione?" I asked again, now sure of her identity, "You filched my invisibility cloak to return a book?"

She didn't say anything immediately, though the feel of her glare was as painfully apparent as an invisible person could make it. Hermione picked the book up, and considering that she'd already lost the advantage of being invisible, she pushed it back on the bookshelf as quickly as she could.

Suddenly, I found myself getting pulled back and away from the Forbidden Section, towards a hidden alcove where students could study in private. I looked at the air bemusedly, "I don't think rulebreakers become Prefects, Hermione. I'm going to need to see your Forbidden Pass."

"Shut it, Harry," Hermione said as she flung off the Cloak of Invisibility, "Are you  _ trying _ to get me caught?" She tossed the priceless family heirloom back to me, and I caught it effortlessly, as any proper Seeker should.

"I'm just surprised, is all," A broad grin crossed my face at the pride I felt. "You're breaking the rules."

She rolled her eyes, "I break the rules all the time now, Harry. You and Ron aren't precisely the greatest of influences in that respect. Remember nearly  _ all  _ of last year?"

The memory of Hermione's hand connecting with Malfoy's face, and the beautiful sound that it made, drifted its way to the fore, and my grin turned goofy. "I remember, and it was  _ amazing.  _ The important thing here," I continued, "Is that you're breaking the rules now  _ without telling me.  _ Do you know what that is? It's an unsanctioned rule-breaking."

Hermione laughed, covering her mouth with the palm of her hand to hide her smile. "An unsanctioned rule-breaking? Isn't that an oxymoron?"

"Yes. Yes, it is. And what do you have to say for yourself?"

We stared at each other a moment, before devolving into giggles. Well, Hermione giggled— _ I _ laughed _. _ It was all very manly, with plenty of dignity, and it would be in no way embarrassing if I could hear myself.

I quickly realised though, that my purpose in coming down to the Library had gone forgotten, and that I'd lost track of Gabrielle after Hermione had pulled me into the alcove. Peeking my head out from the study niche showed that Gabrielle hadn't moved, and I breathed out a sigh of relief.

Hermione poked her head out with me, zeroing in on where it was that I was staring. She pulled her brows together as we returned to the alcove, and she narrowed her eyes at me, "Why were we staring at Gabrielle?"

Though I hadn't been trying to keep my covert reconnaissance a secret from Hermione, I flushed at getting caught. "Don't you find it a little suspicious?" I asked her, "Gabrielle isn't just some random transfer, she's Fleur's  _ sister. _ "

Hermione looked at me like I was particularly thick-headed, before looking up at the ceiling like she was the last sane person alive. "No, Harry, I _don't_ find that suspicious."

" _ How _ , Hermione?" I didn't much appreciate her treating me like an idiot, "She has to be here for  _ something. _ "

I hated arguing with Hermione like this—it did nothing but leave a sour taste in my mouth. Words failed me in my attempts to describe my reasoning—Gabrielle seemed shifty, and that was all the evidence I had.

"You  _ saved her life _ . Whether she was in any actual danger or not, such things can leave a bit of an impression on some girls. Just let it go," Hermione said, "She'll get over it eventually."

I blanched. Whatever grand scheme my subconscious had thought was going on, absolutely paled in comparison to the reality of the situation. " _ She has a crush on me? _ " At my horror of that state of affairs, the question only just managed to wheeze itself out of me.

"Yes," Hermione said simply.

Her earlier exasperation  _ may _ have been, perhaps, on point, as Gabrielle's shiftiness, now in the proper context, only reminded me of Ginny. Ron's younger sister was the same, often disappearing whenever I was around, making absolutely no secret of the fact that she had a crush on me.

" _ Just _ what I needed..." I groaned while sweeping a hand through my hair. The action wasn't soothing enough, so I did it again, "Another Ginny running around. Is she going to join that Harry Potter Fan Club thing, too?"

Hermione nodded her head gravely, "I hear she's vying for the presidency, too. Ginny wasn't much pleased to hear  _ that _ particular bit of news."

"Yeah, I'm just gonna go talk to her," I said, absolutely done with the course this conversation had taken. "That should help her get over this—" My nose wrinkled in disgust, " _ Phase. _ "

"This should be fun to see," Hermione said through a broad grin, "Let's go." My one and only female friend left the alcove without me, and I hurried to catch up with her.

We walked past the Forbidden Section, not stopping for any illegal book-snatching, and immediately took a hard left turn—away from the majority of the bookshelves, and towards the general reading area. There was, as always, a large contingent of Ravenclaws studying studiously, and even a few Slytherins scattered around. Gabrielle, though, was the only Gryffindor.

She was, as I had suspected, fidgeting in place. Gabrielle had both her legs pulled up sideways into her chair, and she was furiously writing away at what looked like a letter. She didn't seem to be having much luck, shown by the small pile of crumpled paper laying on the table. A stray lock of hair came loose when she brought her legs down and to the floor, and Gabrielle quickly tucked it behind her ear.

"Come on, Harry," Hermione said when I stood around watching Gabrielle for too long, and she grabbed my hand to pull me forward.

The pain started not even two steps later. Shivers wracked up and down my spine, and my legs wobbled underneath the strain of supporting my body weight. Hermione split into two, and Gabrielle, further away, divided so many times that I lost count. A sheen of sweat plastered itself to my forehead as though I'd spent far too long in a too-hot shower.

"Harry?" Hermione spoke, and the question sounded as though it were in stereo, coming from the Hermione's on either side of me.

As quickly as it started, it stopped. Hermione came back together, the spinning and shaking and shivers stopped, and the pain evaporated as though it were never there at all. I braced myself against a table, taking in several deep and calming breaths to try and regain my equilibrium. It helped only some.

"Harry?" Hermione asked again, and I slowly edged my head over to take in her worried look. Her brows were raised and pulled together, an expression of concern that nearly made me downturn my head. "Are you all right?"

After a minute to take inventory of my body, and the sensations travelling through it, I said, "I think so?" Nothing felt off or wrong anymore, but that was the confusing part. That pain came from out of nowhere, and that level of physical agony just shouldn't  _ do _ that. Not even Lockhart vanishing the bones in my arm had felt like that.

Perhaps that was what pain felt like without the good advantage of being in shock. I didn't very much like it.

Hermione stared at me a little bit longer before shaking her head. "I don't think so, mister—we're going to the Hospital Wing."

" _ But— _ "

" _ Now _ , Harry."

I didn't argue with her any further than that. We left the Library, Hermione keeping a very close eye on me, as though she feared I would keel over if ever she looked away. 

It was on our way out that I noticed that Gabrielle was no longer in her seat, nor was she anywhere else to be found. With the newfound understanding of Gabrielle's crush on me, as mortifying as the thought was, the sudden disappearance was no longer worthy of any note. There were other, and more important, things on my mind.

The thought that there was something wrong with me was terrifying. I'd never been sick before, not even so much as a cough—wizards just  _ didn't  _ get ill. We were a naturally hardy lot, our magic protected us, and only the most serious of magical illnesses could affect us. There was a vaccine for Dragon Pox, and others like it, but they were by no means eradicated. People could still die.

Sometime during my imaginings of pestilence and painful deaths, Hermione and I had arrived at the Hospital Wing. Hermione, being the mother hen that she could sometimes be, was already nearly through with explaining my symptoms to Madam Pomfrey.

"—completely unresponsive! Harry could  _ barely _ even stand, Madam Pomfrey!"

The Matron of Hogwarts was tapping her wand against her chin as she eyed me up and down. She waved her wand in my direction, and after a few moments, she came to some sort of decision.

"I don't see anything wrong." She said, and at Hermione's growing look of defiance, she continued, " _ But, _ I will keep Mr Potter here overnight, to ensure that nothing out of the ordinary can happen."

That mollified Hermione somewhat, and the prospect of spending yet another night in the Hospital Wing brought me fully back into the conversation.

"What do you  _ mean,  _ there's nothing wrong!?" I exclaimed. Just the memory of the pain sent fresh shivers racing back down my spine, "It  _ hurt. _ "

At the simple sentence, Madam Pomfrey's eyes softened, "Be assured, Mr Potter, that I will try my utmost to find whatever it is that ails you."

She never did find anything.

* * *

The wind whistled in my ears, ruffling my hair with its touch as I conquered the very sky itself. Up here, nothing could touch me.

It was something that I would never tire of, flying on my broom. The Firebolt was fast, far faster than any other I'd used, and with it, I could walk amongst the very clouds that floated so gently through the air.

I splashed through one then, and my vision whited out. The lack of sight didn't worry me, in actuality, it did much the opposite. It was nothing up here but me and my broom, and my senses to help guide me, and the feeling was freeing.

There was absolutely nothing like it in the world. Up in the air, I was free. Up in the air, I had control. And in the air, my worry's could float away with the twists of the winds.

I shoved down on my broom handle, my stomach lurching with the rapidity of my descent. There was nothing to worry about—the drop was entirely under my control, and it wasn't long before I fell out of the cloud, my vision opening up to new sights. The ground of the Scottish highlands was vast and picturesque, with the Black Lake and the Castle nestled into the landscape.

My excited whoops drowned themselves in the sound of rushing wind and displaced air, even as the castle grew larger yet, taking up more and more of my narrowing world. I was giddy in my weightlessness, and my smile surely stretched across much of my face.

Only at the very last second did I pull up, running parallel to the ground, only a few meters up in the air.

My troubles couldn't bother me on my broom. A clean bill of health or no, something about my episode in the Library niggled at me—it still felt  _ significant _ . Flying helped to numb that feeling of helplessness that threatened to bloom unconstrained.

A loud whistle rang through the air then, something instantly recognisable, and it had nothing to do with the wind. I dodged by instinct.

A large black iron ball shrieked past, its wake wild and turbulent, and only narrowly missing me by a hair's-breadth. It was a Bludger. Not content to have flown past its mark, it turned around, barreling at me at breakneck speed. It rushed back towards me, and I prepared to evade it again, tensing my muscles for the moment. The Bludger hadn't travelled far before turning around, and there was little time to dodge.

I diverted my broom downward once more, evaporating the distance between me and the ground. The dirt would help slow down the ruddy ball far more than nothing but air.

It came right at me.

Every muscle in my body locked up at once, my hands seizing painfully around my broom handle. It was a familiar pain, though, like Aunt Marge with her electric fence, and I was just able to maintain control. The Bludger slammed into the dirt as my feet brushed lightly against the ground, and I gained a breather as the Bludger twitched in the earth.

That Bludger had to have come from somewhere, and I brushed the sudden bout of pain from my mind. The answer pulled up next to me, bearing a Beater bat and a grin.

"The bloody hell, Fred!?" I yelled at the Weasley twin, projecting my voice over the wind. "Are you  _ trying _ to kill me?"

"Yep!" He furiously nodded his freckle-strewn face, "And you know I'm not Fred, either— _ I'm _ the pretty one. And anyway, you looked like you could use the practice!"

"What are you talking about?" I didn't bother straining my voice this time—those of us on the Quidditch team had gotten pretty good at reading lips. George, or maybe it was Fred, understood me without any trouble. It was a good thing too, as he probably wouldn't have appreciated the annoyance in my voice.

Scratch that, he probably thrived on the irritation of others.

He sensed it anyhow, and he grinned malevolently, the shadows in his face darkening and twisting in ways that I didn't much appreciate. "And here I thought I was a good samaritan—helping you with your weird turns and too-sharp banks. Just call it an impromptu training session!"

"And a Bludger was your idea on how to fix that? All I wanted today was a nice, stress-free flight!"

" _ Stress-free  _ flight? Is that why you pulled that thousand-foot dive?"

"It's relaxing, okay? And fun," I said, not expecting to get tossed on the defensive like that.

That was all the time we had, as the Bludger decided to pick that moment to streak between us, having freed itself from its earthy tomb. I leaned left as Fred, or maybe it was George, pitched off to the right. When it chose to follow the red blur that was the Weasley twin—I was sticking with Fred—he batted the iron ball away with all the skill of a Beater.

The Bludger shrieked like the little terror that it was as it gained on me, and I slammed on the metaphorical accelerator to build up some much-needed speed. With my Firebolt, it was easy.

That didn't mean my safety was guaranteed—the enchantments on the Bludger were such that it would  _ always _ catch up. Until the twin decided to have some mercy, unlikely as that was, only some fancy manoeuvring could save me. Unbidden, a grin stretched across my face as a plan formed. It would require all my skill at my flying, but the important thing was that it would be  _ so much _ fun.

I'd always wanted to fly between the twisted limbs and bent trees of the Forbidden Forest.

Angling my broom in  _ just  _ the right way, I rocketed towards the nearest copse of trees, and beyond them, the ancient woods that had stood tall and indomitable for untold millennia.

My heart stuttered like it had missed a beat, and on its return, it throbbed and hammered away painfully in my chest. In a frightening rhythm, liquid fire crawled its way through my veins, burning away at all that it touched.

A kaleidoscope of colours flashed across my vision, all reds and greens and blues, and every shade in between—it blotted out everything. From the very little that could be seen, or even comprehended, the ground was much nearer than before.

A scream. Mine, or that of the Bludger, or both, I couldn't honestly say. Tumbling, rolling, and a loud thud resounded out. A dry, earthy smell invaded my nostrils—I was in the dirt now, and my ears were ringing. 

A pained gasp escaped me as the world crept back into raw clarity. Somehow or another, my glasses had clung to my face—everything around me shifted and spun though I could see every detail—and it was only after several long breaths that everything began to settle.

"Harry!" Fred yelled as he dismounted at a run. He swung his leg off the broom without so much as stopping, and he sprinted towards me.

On shaky limbs, I slowly sat up. My energy was slowly returning, and the restored strength was enough that help was no longer needed, and I could wave off any attempts to help me up. Fred acquiesced, albeit reluctantly.

He bit his lip as he asked, "You're okay, aren't you?"

As justified as that question was, it was getting tiring. "I'm  _ fine _ ," I bit out, only to immediately regret it. "Sorry," I said, "It's been a long few days."

Fred smiled weakly, "I get that. George and I are still dealing with a chronic lack of funds. It's been stressful—Bagman keeps refusing to give out what he owes."

"That's still going on?" I asked, and at last, the confirmation that Fred was Fred, and not George, came through. Picking up my Firebolt from nearby revealed no scuffs or scratches from the brutal fall. I stubbornly ignored the cause of my crash, not wanting to spend any more time in the Hospital Wing. Madam Pomfrey wouldn't find anything, anyway.

Fred bitterly kicked at a mound of dirt, "He duped us, and quite a few others if those goblins stalking him are any pointer. I told George that we should report him to the Ministry, but he said that's too much like blackmail."

"Blackmail? How is that blackmail?"

"I don't know! I keep  _ telling _ George that we're never going to see our money ever again," Fred's hands squeezed into fists, "Not ever! Unless we're willing to play dirty, that money is  _ gone. _ "

An incredible idea took shape while Fred ranted—a plan that would solve both our problems. Fred needed money; I needed a distraction. We could help one another, and kill two birds with one stone. The last thing I wanted, or needed, was to spend my nights trapped in hospice. It was lucky Fred hadn't said anything—he just thought it a simple crash—so this was an opportunity to keep me busy.

I stopped fiddling with my broomstick to ask Fred a simple question, "So what are you going to do about it?"

Fred scratched at his nose as he looked at me, perplexed, "What are you saying?"

"Nobody knows how to sneak around quite like you—not around Hogwarts, or even around Hogsmeade. And you say goblins are after Bagman," My half-baked idea of a plan took on a sharper and more precise image in my head as I continued, "It sounds to me like we need to move fast, or that money really  _ will _ be gone forever."

"That's illegal, Harry," He said after a long moment of silence. A broad, toothy grin stretched across his face, and even his eyes crinkled, "So we better make sure we don't get caught, huh?"

"We're robbing a Ministry official, then?"

The Ministry put Sirius in Azkaban, and while the Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports had nothing to do with that, he would make an excellent stand-in. Ludo Bagman was a crook, and I wouldn't feel sorry whatsoever if he inexplicably found himself out of money. And if he found himself in an unfortunate situation because of that, then that wasn't anybody's fault but his own.

"Is it robbing if he stole from us first?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Took me a while to puzzle out what I wanted to do with Gabrielle's character. It's through her that Harry caught the Veela Curse, and I didn't want her to just be some little girl. I wanted Gabrielle to actually matter to how the story's plot will move forward. The best way to do that, it seemed, was to make her the same age as Harry, and from there, all I had to do was come up with some kind of personality for her. And so, through the powers of Authorial Godhood, I have transformed her into a Fourth Year.


End file.
